


For Posterity

by MissBegottenLit (SoulTinkerer)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulTinkerer/pseuds/MissBegottenLit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony believes he has no right to be depressed, but he can't help the way he feels or how it makes him act. After an uncomfortable interaction with Tony, Steve stumbles across a decades-old suicide note. He realizes something is seriously wrong with his teammate and decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching Iron Man 2 recently and the scene where Tony was watching his dad’s outtakes from the old Stark Expo video caught my eye. At one point Howard drunkenly says to the camera, “I’d like to show you… my ass!” That sounded like a family trait to me, and thus this weird little plot was born. 
> 
> Also, there are mentions of past (and possibly current!) suicidal thoughts, so heads up!

Tony Stark had no right to be depressed, and he knew it.

Compared to anyone else in the entire world, he had no reason to be upset. He didn’t know everyone in the world, but he knew enough  _ of _ the world to understand that. Even within his own building, he had it better than almost anyone.

Clint was deaf, but he managed to make that work for him. Beyond that, didn’t have much reason to be sad, and he  _ wasn’t,  _ smug, sarcastic, magnificent sassmaster that he was. 

Thor was a literal god, all big and blond, with muscles, Mjolnir, and a  _ huge hammer _ if Jane Foster was to be believed. All that added up to one of the most genuinely cheerful people Tony had ever met.

Nat had every right to be furious, and was somehow able to contain that white hot rage in a smoking hot body and focus it on assholes who needed their necks snapped.

Bruce hated Jolly Green, hated himself for creating him. He hated his father, his mother, the patients he’d had in Calcutta, and the New Yorkers he’d saved from the Chitauri. Like a man who lived at the base of an active volcano, he somehow managed to function, even with the threat of being buried beneath volcanic ash and despair constantly hanging over his head. 

And Steve… Tony didn’t even want to think about Steve, with his  _ good for the sake of good _ and his  _ greatest generation _ and his  _ American Duty.  _ If there was anyone who had the right to curl up in a ball, cry themselves to sleep, rinse, and repeat, it was Steve Motherfucking Rogers, the boy scout who looked down on Tony because he’d never wanted for anything in his entire life. 

Well, he might have wanted a hug or two from Papa Stark, but that was disgustingly cliché. Tony Stark was many things—he refused to let cliché be one of them.

There were widows living in countries that didn’t allow women to work who couldn’t feed their starving children. There were teenagers whose parents kicked them out of the house for being gay, who ended up turning tricks just to survive. There were kids who picked up guns he made to protect their families from vicious hate-monsters in human skin. 

And here he was, poor widdle billionaire, with more money than he could ever spend, a job he loved, and a building full of friends, but he was spending his time alone, getting outrageously drunk, and feeling sorry for himself.

He was elbow deep in his 1932 Ford's engine, orating these sentiments to JARVIS, when Steve walked into the workshop.

“Oh son of a… Cut, JARVIS!” Tony shouted.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Um, yeah?” Tony said, standing up and nearly losing his balance. He caught himself on a workbench, sending a toolbox smashing to the floor. “The flow of my creative genius? My unique and world-saving thought process?”

“Your egotistical movie making?” JARVIS supplied.

“You were filming yourself?” Steve asked, crossing his arms and smiling at the ceiling.

“He often records himself ‘for posterior’,” JARVIS said.

“For posterior?”

“I believe he meant ‘for posterity’.”

“I meant what I meant,” Tony said, picking his way carefully through the general debris of the floor to sit at his computer. “Posterity can kiss my posterior, for all I care. In one video, I think I actually  _ show _ them my posterior.”

“May 21 st , 2007.”

“That’s it! That’s the one. JARVIS, your ass cataloging skills are superb. Whatcha say, Cap?” he asked, opening the folder he’d created to store all his drunken, recorded ramblings. “Wanna see it?”

“Um, no,” Steve said, quickly pushing Tony’s hand away from the display before he could pull it up. 

“Too bad. JARVIS, email the Goddamn American Icon copies of of my posterior so he can watch them later.” He gave Steve a wink.

“No,” Steve said quickly, looking panicked. Tony grinned. Every once in a while Steve was awkward and uncomfortable. It was rare, but each instance was a reminder that Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes was more than muscle and sickeningly moral one-liners. “JARVIS, you don’t have to--”

“He does have to, though!” Tony said. 

“I really don’t, sir. We’ve discussed this, remember?”

With a huff, Tony remembered he was right. Pepper had insisted Tony give JARVIS the ability to refuse orders when Tony was drunk or high or feeling particularly self-destructive. One night, Tony had gotten blackout drunk and tried to buy the New England Patriots. She didn’t think wanting to change their name to the New England Cheetahs was as funny as he did.

Beaten on that front, he turned his attention back to Steve. “What are you doing down here? You never come down here. Why are you here?”

“We hadn’t seen you in 36 hours and I drew the short straw,” Steve said. “Do you do this often?” he asked, scrolling through the long list of video files.

“Only when I throw myself a pity party, which reminds me--the only people on the VIP list are Me, Myself, and I, so I’m gonna need you to bounce.”

“A pity party doesn’t really sound like you,” Steve said. 

“That’s because you don’t know me very well,” he snapped, unable to keep the venom out of his voice.

“Tony,” Steve said, a confused frown creasing his eyebrows. “I only meant--”

He didn’t let him finish. He didn’t care what Captain America meant, because he knew what Captain America thought, that he was spoiled, that he was rich and entitled, and therefore he had no reason or right to be unhappy. And Tony agreed, but that just made him feel worse. “This is the part that doesn’t add up,” he said, unsure of who he was talking to, himself, JARVIS, or Steve. “I can’t be sad, but I can hate myself. In fact, according to a lot of people--like oodles of people--I probably should hate myself. How can you hate yourself without being sad? I can feel mad, but self-loathing is like sad and mad all at the same time. It’s like… like smad.”

“Smad?” Steve repeated slowly.

“Yes,” Tony said, slapping his hand down on the table as a magnificent idea came to him. “I’m sick of inventing robots and from now on, I shall be inventing words. JARVIS! Copyright ‘smad’ for me.”

“I don’t think that’s how copyright works, sir.”

Tony let out a heavy sigh and finally felt just how drunk he really was. His head felt heavy, he couldn’t feel his face, and his breathing was so loud he was amazed he could hear Steve at all. He sat down hard and gave his chair a spin, immediately deciding that was a poor choice. He stopped spinning, but nothing else did. Eventually, he managed to ask the question he’d always wondered, even back when Captain America was nothing more than an old dead savior in newsreels and the hero of every story Howard Stark had ever told him.

“How’d you do it?”

“How’d I do what?”

“It! Everything! Anything!” Tony said. “You had a shitty life, man. You were little and sick, Depression-Era poor, your parents were dead. Were there lots of ass-kickings? You’re one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met, so I’m assuming there were lots of ass-kickings. And yet, when the call came, you still answered it. You saved the world. And I’m willing to bet you didn’t complain once, you smug, perfect bastard.” Tony stopped, finally noticing that Steve was staring at him with an odd expression on his face. When he didn’t answer the question, Tony said, “So? How’d you do it?”

Steve stood up straight like he always did before he said something Profound and Meaningful. “Well, it wasn’t easy, but the idea was simple enough: When times get hard, you can do one of two things: you can get upset, or you can get to work.”

Tony nodded and looked around his shop. He understood that particular sentiment better than anything: get sad, get drunk, get to work. That was the recipe for most of his projects, now that he thought about it.

It just didn’t help.

“C’mon, you need to go to bed,” Steve said. He helped Tony to his feet, and then had to help him  _ stay  _ on his feet in the form of pulling his arm across his shoulders and practically dragging him to the door. “You need a shower, too,” he added, crinkling his nose. 

“Mm,” Tony agreed, and let himself be half-led, half-carried to his bedroom. 

“I don’t know what’s eating you up, Stark,” Cap said as they entered Tony’s room. “But another thing I learned, back when I was sick and little and getting my ass kicked: sleep almost always helps.” He let Tony collapse onto his bed and then stood back. 

“Mmm, yeah, sleep forever,” Tony muttered, half his face buried in a pillow, just before he passed out.

* * *

 

“You have to show us the ass videos, Rogers,” Romanoff said as soon as Steve was done filling them in on his conversation with Tony. 

“What?” he said. “No, I don’t.” He had joined her and Banner in the kitchen after putting Tony to bed. They were the only other people in the tower. Thor was on Asgard and Clint was… somewhere. When they’d asked, he’d pretended not to be able to read their lips and then practically ran out the door. 

If either of them had been here, he probably could have avoided the awkward, depressing chat with Tony in the shop. As it was, he’d never been able to convince Natasha or Banner to do something they didn’t want to do.

“Watching them alone in your room in the dark is creepy, watching them out here with us will be hilarious,” she said, eating another spoonful of her strawberry ice cream.

“He made you carry him to bed,” Bruce said. “I think he deserves a little payback.” His bowl was empty, but Steve knew what his ice cream had been: lime sherbert. He wondered if Banner’s lure to green things was ironic or not. He’d never completely understood the term, and now that people were doing things like wearing glasses and dressing like hobos “ironically”, he really had no clue.

He sighed and asked the ceiling, “JARVIS, how’s Stark doing?”

“He’s unconscious and likely will be for the next six-point-five-seven hours. I’ve monitored him in this state literally hundreds of times before; aside from a splitting headache and some nausea, he should be fine.”

He nodded, content. “Did you end up emailing me those videos?”

“No, Captain, but I still can if you’re interested.”

“Of course he’s interested in the ass videos,” Nat said. “Send the ass videos!”

“Will you please stop saying ‘ass videos’?” Steve said, rubbing his right temple.

She did stop saying it, but only because Steve got an email containing four video files. Steve and Bruce spent the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get them to play on the big screen in the tower’s home theater. They had resorted to pushing random buttons and hoping for the best when Natasha walked in with a bowl of popcorn and set it up in under ten seconds. They all settled down on the soft, deep couch, and Nat hit play.

In the first video, Tony seemed to be eternally amused by mooning the camera and JARVIS, and did it more than eight times. (They stopped watching after eight.)

In the second video, Tony was welding something, caught his pants on fire, stripped them off, and then ordered JARVIS to record his injuries for the biopic he was planning.

In the third, Tony was carrying on with one of his projects completely in the nude, with no explanation or reasoning behind why he was naked. This video was shot sometime after his time in Afghanistan, and while Natasha laughed and Bruce chuckled at the thought of a naked Tony getting frisky with his robots, Steve was more interested in the arc reactor. He’d only ever seen the circle of light when it was dimmed by Tony’s shirt, or at the core of the Iron Man suit. Here it was bare and bright, circled by a spider-web of scars that were still angry, red, and new. Tony always made the combination of man and machine seem effortless, perfect. The scars painted a different picture.

The last video actually had a title-- _ For Posterior _ \--but the instant it started playing, Steve saw that it was older than the rest. Tony couldn’t have been much older than seventeen. He looked young enough that Howard might have still been alive when he filmed it. Despite his youth, he was completely sloshed. Steve could see it in his big, soft eyes that were usually so sharp and keen, in the pink spots high on his cheeks, in the way he tilted his head, and in the way he smiled like he wanted to cry.

_ “I may be a selfish prick, but I’m also an egotistical selfish prick, and I know how goddam smart I am,”  _ Tony said, grinning that drunken, broken grin. He was sitting in what looked like a dorm room. There was a bed with a rumpled blue comforter, a heap of books and papers, and more than a few posters of luxury cars pinned to the wall behind him. But Tony only had eyes for the camera.  _ “I’m like… like Einstein smart, and can you imagine what the world would be like if Einstein had offed himself before he came up with his special theory of relativity? The world would be an even shittier place than it already is! So here it is, everything I know all laid out for posterior. Err--posterity! That way, no one in the future can say, Screw you, Tony Stark! You went and killed yourself before saving the world!” _

“What did he just say?” Romanoff asked, mouth agape.

“Oh, God,” Bruce said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Then followed several minutes of Tony orating seemingly everything he knew about mechanics and engineering. Even when he was seventeen years old and mind-numbingly drunk, Tony was still the smartest person Steve had ever met, and he understood maybe one word in ten. There was something about  _ weight ratio _ , something about  _ integrated circuits, _ something else about  _ internal pressure loss _ . From time to time, Tony would hold up some schematic or blueprint, obviously his own original work. Once he actually brought one of his robots in front of the camera. Steve recognized the robot Tony still called Dum-E as it clicked and whirred and spun excitedly, knocking over the camera in the process. 

After what seemed like ages and no time at all, Tony eventually sat back and sighed heavily before looking at the camera once again.  _ “That’s it,” _ he said with a shrug.  _ “That’s everything I know--or everything I know that’s worth knowing. The worthless parts of me won’t be around to distract or disgrace anyone for much longer.”  _ He moved to turn off the camera, but just before he did, added,  _ “If anything in this video ends up saving the world, I expect a statue to be erected in my honor. Solid gold would be best, but gold-plated will do in a pinch.” _

The video ended, and for a long moment the three of them sat silent on the couch, awash with the bright, blank blue of the tv screen. Steve had the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Well...” Nat said, before taking a deep breath and running a hand through her hair. “Hell. JARVIS, what was that doing with the ass videos?” she asked, anger edging her voice.

“I apologize,” JARVIS said. “The inclusion of the word ‘posterior’ must have been misinterpreted by my filters.” 

“What was going on around this time?” Bruce asked. “Why was he so upset?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” the program finally said. He actually sounded surprised. “I have a block preventing me from accessing that information.”

“We could ask Pepper,” Nat said, cutting brutally to the simplest solution, just like always. “I bet she would know.”

Steve shook his head. Talking about this right now, mere minutes after finishing the video, felt sneaky and dishonest and wrong. Talking to Pepper about it, even if she was Tony’s closest friend, felt like a betrayal. “Or we could just ask Tony,” he offered.

“Or we could not bring it up at all,” Bruce said with a shrug.

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“This was years ago,” he said. “Decades, even. He obviously didn’t go through with whatever he had planned. Whatever this was, Tony got over it or buried it. Digging skeletons like that back up again won’t bring anything good.”

Was he over it, though? Steve wasn’t so sure. Something was eating away at his teammate, that much was certain. Besides, this was Banner talking. He’d sail around just about anything if it meant keeping the waters still and keeping the other guy drowning in the deep.

But it was  _ Banner _ , he thought again, remembering the man’s confession aboard the helicarrier.  _ I got low _ , was what he’d said. Steve had never experienced that feeling. He’d been in mourning. He’d been beaten down. He’d been more exhausted than he’d ever thought possible. He’d even sacrificed himself for the greater good, but he’d never wanted to stop fighting. Maybe he just didn’t have it in him, maybe the serum kept his head on straight.

Maybe he’d just never taken a hit bad enough to bring him that low.

“Besides, we just watched his 30-year old suicide note,” Banner continued. “Tony is many things. Proud is one of them, open is not. Bring this up and you’ll humiliate him.”

“That just feels like we’re lying,” Steve said, even while a different voice in his mind said Bruce would know better than anyone.

“Well,” Nat said, shifting almost imperceptibly toward Banner. “Lies aren’t always bad things. Some lies can be shields.”

Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, because damn her, she always knew exactly what to say to manipulate him. The fact that he knew what she was doing didn’t make it any less effective. Once, a few months ago, Natasha had called the fact that he fought with a shield “Freudian”, and he supposed it was. His team was going to get hurt. It was inevitable, inescapable, practically a daily occurrence. He was fairly certain Tony and Clint had a competition going, some kind of point system, but he wasn’t sure that was something anyone actually wanted to win. But just because broken bones and nightmares and still, silent hearts were in the job description, that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try to minimize the damage. So he shielded one of the world’s greatest assassins, he worried about the seemingly immortal demigod, he was a mother hen to Hawkeye, and coddled the giant beast of writhing fury. 

And he supposed, for now at least, he could keep quiet for the mouthy, brilliant billionaire. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should post a warning, but I'm not sure what for, so... heads up for angsty, sex-related stuff? Nothing explicit, very briefly mentioned, not sexual assault... I just don't know how to tag it.

Steve mothered everyone. It might have taken Tony a while to get used to it, but now he recognized it was simply a part of his personality. A piece of Tony was honestly surprised when Steve let the other Avengers walk out of the tower every day without a packed lunch made up of a PB&J with the crust cut off and a sticky note that said  _ Good luck today! Be good! _

Honestly, on most days a lunch like that would fix an unnerving number of his problems…

Regardless of Steve’s motherly instincts, over the past few weeks he’d taken things to a whole new level. JARVIS reports the Iron Man suit has taken a mere 18% damage from the giant, acid spitting centipede? Captain America and his shield leap between them an instant later. He spends over four hours in his workshop alone, trying to repair the damage from said giant, acid spitting centipede? Steve shows up to ask how it’s going. He wakes up with a hangover after drinking himself into a stupor over the stupid fucking giant, acid spitting centipede--because seriously, how is this his life? Steve is ready with aspirin, a glass of water, and a greasy breakfast. He flies to London to get some new minds and investors interested in his Ascension Project?

Steve texts him. Every. Goddam. Hour.

He was cutting an apple earlier that day. He slipped, nicked his finger, and was frankly amazed Steve hadn’t shown up with a full Boy Scouts of America first aid kit to help him. 

Tony definitely liked attention, and he liked company. He even liked  _ Steve’s _ company more often than not. But he didn’t like any of it 24/7. There were times when he needed to be alone, times when his mind was so full of nuts and bolts, amperage and weight ratio, tensile strength and rotations-per-second, that people, with all their curves and planes and soft edges, just didn’t fit his mind. 

This usually happened to him in the middle of the night. When it did, not even dreams would compute. They were too fluid, too  _ human _ , and before he knew it, he was in his workshop pulling up schematics or pulling apart an engine until the sun rose and all the clutter of his mind was put away nice and neat.

Over the past few weeks, that was the only time he’d been able to find enough solitude to get any work done, and that’s where he was, fingers flying through the air, touching light and manipulating science, when Steve walked into the workshop holding a book. Tony’s hands froze on the hologram displays, and he gave Steve a curious glare. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

Tony glanced at the clock. 3:47 a.m. technically counted, he supposed. “Morning.”

He walked up and peered at the designs he’d been tinkering with. “What are you working on?”

Tony considered him for a moment, trying to formulate an escape plan and coming up empty. “New turbine designs for SHIELD’s helicarrier.”

“Hm,” Steve said with a small, impressed nod, before he found a seat at a cluttered workbench and started to read. 

Tony tried to get back to work, tried to let his mind be filled once again with metal and electricity, but Steve was still in the corner of his eye with his  _ paper _ and his  _ breathing, _ and it wasn’t long before he lost his patience completely. “Oh my god,” he finally said, spinning in his chair to face Steve. “Ok, dude, you are seriously starting to freak me out. What has been up with you lately? Why are you here? Why do you keep coming around?”

“Can’t I just want to spend time with you?” Steve asked, trying to look confused and mildly offended. He wasn’t successful.

“No!” Tony said, and he believed that completely. There had only ever been one person in his entire life who simply wanted to spend time with him, and that was only after he’d been her boss for a decade and named her the CEO of the most successful technology conglomerate on the planet. Once upon a time, he’d thought Rhodey might fall into that category. Then he’d come back from Afghanistan, declared he was done making weapons, and Rhodey had all but refused to talk to him until he heard about the suit. As much as he counted Rhodey a friend, he wasn’t so naive to think that particular friendship didn’t come with strings attached.

Happy was an employee--a damn good one, but still, Tony paid him to stick around. Stane had only tolerated and manipulated him until he’d become too difficult to control, and Tony still counted himself lucky to have survived those particular disasters. Romanoff had been an undercover agent. Fury only put up with him because he was desperate for funds, tech, and enough dramatic flair to save the world every once in awhile. Bruce might genuinely like him, but Tony knew better than to think he stuck around for anything other than the tower’s R&D labs and his impersonation of Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

And now there was Steve, trying to butter him up, trying to act like he didn’t want anything from him but his sharp wit and sparkling personality, and doing a terrible job at it.

“No, you can’t just want to spend time with me, because no one ever wants that, they always want something else. So the sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I can give it to you, and the sooner you can go back to… whatever it is you normally do in your free time.” Tony had to wonder about that. Did he work out? Polish his shield? Masturbate to pictures of the Founding Fathers while listening to the Star Spangled Banner? If he didn’t settle whatever this issue was with Rogers, he might never find out.

“I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

Tony was about to exclaim something along the lines of how he _knew it_ , people always wanted something, when he realized what Steve had actually said and his brain scrambled to catch up. “Is this about that night you carried me to bed?” he said, pinning the issue down and waving a dismissive hand. “I was drunk and hadn’t slept for almost two days, so you really can’t hold me responsible for anything I might have said.”

“No, it’s not because of--well, a bit, it’s more--um…” Steve looked distinctly uncomfortable, and if it weren’t for the growing dread in his stomach, Tony would have gotten a kick out of it. He marked his page, closed his book, and said, “JARVIS, will you please pull up the ass videos?”

“The ass videos?” Tony asked with a snort, suddenly remembering. “Is that what this is? You catch one glimpse of my ass and start swooning--” His voice died in his throat as the schematics on his displays were replaced with four videos. In three of them he was literally showing his ass, but in the fourth... “JARVIS, how did this one get here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but I believe there is a flaw in my content filters,” JARVIS said. Bastard was made of nothing but numbers and circuit boards, and he still managed to sound embarrassed.

“You saw this?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” Steve said with a nod.

“And you didn’t say anything before now, why?” He had to fight to keep his voice from wavering because this was messed up in about five different ways, and he was about to break in about seven. He couldn’t let that happen in front of Steve. If you broke while no one was around to see it, no one would ever notice the cracks, but break in front of someone, and the cracks was all they would ever see.

Steve shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms. “Bruce thought…”

“He saw it too?” Tony asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Yes, and Natasha.”

“Awesome,” Tony said, meaning the other thing. “Anyone else?”

“Not unless you count JARVIS,” Steve said with a shrug.

“So that’s why you’ve been coming around so often lately?” Tony asked. “You’re afraid I’ll kill myself in here while the rest of you have Team Dinner and a Movie Night? Please, Cap, do you honestly think I ever would? I love myself too much for that.” At least, he would never do it on purpose. He’d had a handful of not-exactly-planned explosions, a few fires, some writhing, live electrical wires, and a carbon monoxide leak, but he’d managed to survive so far. But that wasn’t exactly the point right now. “Why didn’t any of you mention you saw this? Why not just ask me about it like, you know, adult human beings?”

If Steve thought it was a bit hypocritical of him to call anyone immature, he didn’t mention it. He just said, “Bruce thought bringing it up again might be… embarrassing. So we figured it might be best if…” the look on Tony’s face killed the words before they left his mouth.

“So that’s what you think, that I should be ashamed? I have a couple bad days, have a bit too much to drink--”

“Tony, no--” Steve tried to interrupt, but Tony didn’t let him. 

“Got a little overdramatic, and that--” He laughed. It was supposed to be a cutting, mocking laugh, but it came out broken and wrong. “That is enough to make the great Captain America think I should be ashamed of myself? Hate to break it to you, princess, but that’s not even a blip on my radar.”

“Why do you do this?” Steve had the grace to look confused and hurt, and damn it all if that wasn’t the first honest expression Tony had seen on his face all night.

“Do what?” Tony asked. 

“Twist my words. Make it sound like I always assume the worst of you.”

“Don’t you, though?” he asked with a smirk.

Steve didn’t seem to have an answer to that. He simply shook his head and, after a moment of thinking, asked, “So what happened during your couple bad days?”

“Whatever you assume happened,” Tony said, because no. Fuck no, he would not tell Steve about that night, the next day, the following week of pure hell, nothing. If he managed to find something or someone who knew him back then, fine. Tony could play that off with a cheesy joke and a sharp, dazzling smile, but if he talked about it, he’d have nothing to hide behind. His voice would shake, and his walls would crumble. Even though he’d done something similar a dozen times since then, the first time--the time Howard had scowled and shaken his head in disgust, not because he’d had sex with a man, but because he’d been filmed doing it--that time was personal. Nevermind the fact that he hadn’t known he was being filmed, or that it was all a ploy to humiliate him. To the people who mattered, he’d been a disgrace, and to the people who didn’t, he’d been something worse. 

And there wasn’t a single word of that he could breathe to perfect Steve Rogers, so let him assume.

“Tony--”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! I was young and stupid--” Steve raised an eyebrow, and he corrected himself. “Well, stupider than I am now. I made a mistake, a very public one, and I didn’t exactly handle it with all of the wonderful maturity I possess now. But obviously I pulled my head out of my ass, and I didn’t off myself, so I don’t understand what’s got your panties in a twist.” He was talking around the subject, but he was hoping Steve would take the hint. 

“So you’re not…” he trailed off again, too determined to let it go, but too awkward to come out and ask.

“Not what? Depressed? Suicidal? No, of course not,” Tony said with a dismissive shrug. 

“Then what was that the other night?”

“Drunken, sleep deprived ramblings?” Tony tried. 

“Try again,” he said in his Captain America voice.

He sighed. “I don’t know, I just… get sad sometimes. Our lives are fucked up enough that I would say we’re entitled, but…” But feeling sorry for himself was the one thing Tony Stark was not entitled to. 

It had taken him a while--a couple decades--to come to terms with the fact that being sad was a fact of life. No one was happy all the time, just like no one was sad all the time. Happiness could burst bright and radiant from every moment for days, and sadness could run a marathon slog through the mud, but neither was permanent. 

“But what?” Steve asked.

“But sometimes people are just sad. So I handle it. I come down here, and I work until I’m not sad anymore. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s been working out fine. You just had really unfortunate timing the other night.”

Steve looked around the shop for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought, before he nodded and said, “All right, then.”

And Tony thought, Glory, hallelujah! Finally. Finally things would go back to normal, Steve would leave, and he could get back to work. To his dismay, Steve merely picked his book back up and continued reading.

“You’re still here…”

“Yep,” he said, turning the page and not bothering to look up.

What was this, Tony wondered, a crusade, a suicide mission, or good old-fashioned American obstinacy at its finest? “You’re not going to be able to fix me,” he said.

That made him look up. “I don’t want to fix you. There’s nothing to fix. You said it yourself, sometimes people are just sad,” Steve said with a shrug. “If you need to be sad, then be sad. We’ll all be here when you are, and we’ll still be here when you’re not anymore. Just make sure you’re around to return the favor.”

Not knowing what else to do, Tony turned back to his displays. After a long stretch of silence, he said, “I can do that.” Then he got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I figured out an ending! I had some folks asking for a romantic ending, but I enjoy the friendship angle of Steve and Tony just as much, if not more, than the romantic angle, and that's what I was feeling, so that's what I went with.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Thoughts are always appreciated :)


End file.
